


Anchor

by todisturbtheuniverse



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief, POV Second Person, PTSD, Post-Sins of the Father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1435468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard doesn't sleep peacefully anymore.</p>
<p>ME2, post-<i>Sins of the Father</i>. Could be read as romantic or platonic, depending on which way you squint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchor

**Author's Note:**

> Today on: I’m having feelings I don’t know how to deal with so here have a fic while I cry into an entire box of tissues.

"You are lost," Thane says, apropos of nothing, one day when you slip into Life Support for idle small talk. He has an unnerving habit of greeting you with these sorts of solemn pronouncements, but this is the first one he’s made about you. "You are searching for purpose."

You stand there, heart beating too fast, for ten full seconds; then you mutter, “I should go,” and you flee to the main battery like the anti-introspective woman you are.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Shepard," Garrus comments, folding his arms across his chest. "Did you look in the mirror?"

"Ugh," you mutter. You see yourself out. His laugh is kind, not cruel, and it’s not his fault that you hear it that way, but you do have a habit of avoiding mirrors these days. He doesn’t know that. No one knows that.

”Hi,” Kasumi greets, and reaches over to close the shutter on that deep void before you can. Something that had tightened in your chest loosens; you breathe easy. “You okay, Shepard?”

"Fine," you lie, and nod to the painting on the wall. "Where did that come from?"

You like listening to the thief’s stories. They’re about another life, so different from your own that you can’t see a reflection there no matter how hard you look.

*

You wish you could sleep, but sometimes you dream about dying, and that’s enough to keep anyone awake.

*

"I have purpose," you announce to Thane’s back, the next time you get up the nerve to go to Life Support. "The Collectors, the Reapers—I think I’m  _full_ of purpose.”

"I’m sorry," he says, not turning around. "I did not mean to insult you. I only meant that your purpose is great, but you are still lost. You do not know your place in this world anymore. I understand."

The words you’re looking for stick in your throat.  _I should have stayed dead_  and  _I miss my ship_ and  _I miss my crew_ and  _you are not them, none of you are them as I knew them_  and  _everything changed I was gone so long I was gone only a minute please_ —

"Shepard," he says, yanking you from the terrifying stream of your thoughts. He has crossed the room, is standing in front of you, black eyes liquid and mildly concerned, hands clenched carefully behind his back.

"You meditate, right?" you ask, pretending the lapse didn’t happen. "Can you teach me?"

"It’s nothing particularly structured," he replies. "Samara would be better—"

"No." You clear your throat. "I don’t want to…interrupt…and she likes the shutter open. The stars, they don’t—I don’t like looking at them anymore." It feels like a failure to admit it.

"No one could blame you," he says gravely. Unexpectedly, he reaches out. Cool fingers trace the scars lingering around your cheek, your jaw. "Anyone else would have been left in peace."

You try to smile, but it feels just as cracked as the skin that’s still struggling to heal. “Peace isn’t for me,” you tell him, even though you don’t believe it.

"We’ll see." He sinks to the floor, offers a hand up to help you down. You take it. You sit cross-legged, knee-to-knee with him. "Close your eyes. Breathe. Follow my count."

"Do I have to—"

"Close your eyes," he commands, and squeezes your hand where it’s still knotted up with his. "I’ll be your anchor. Breathe in until seven. One…"

Your chest is tight, and then it’s not; your breath hitches, and then it smoothes. For time immeasurable, you struggle, and then for time immeasurable, you drift. He stops counting. The black is deep, void of stars, peaceful. Endless. You breathe it in, keep it close. You remember it, that soft, quiet emptiness, from before they woke you up.

This time, you wake to the hum of your ship beneath your cheek and a hand still loosely clasped around yours. No alarms, no screams, no panic. It’s the first time you’ve slept without dreaming since you died. You miss being dead, you think, and leave Life Support before Thane can wake up.

You would thank him, but the words stick in your throat.


End file.
